stretched out as if to detain me; but I escaped, and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the court-yard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life. Oh! no mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished. He was ugly then; but when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even Dante could not have conceived.

I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with this horror I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a hell to me: and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete.

Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned, and discovered to my sleepless eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple and clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates of the court which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into the streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my view. I did not dare to return to the apartment which I inhabited, but felt impelled to hurry on, although wetted by the rain, which poured from a black and comfortless sky. I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavoring by bodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I traversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or what I was doing. My heart palpitated with fear, and I hurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me.

SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE, an English poet, born at Field Place, near Horsham, Sussex, August 4, 1792. His great-grandfather, Timothy, lived for a number of years in America; and his grandfather, Bysshe, was born in Newark, N. J., of an American mother. The family was wealthy and of local distinction in Sussex. Timothy, the poet's father, succeeded in 1815 to the baronetcy given Bysshe in 1806. Shelley's schooling began at six. At ten he was sent to Sion House, near Brentford, and at twelve to Eton. In the fall of 1810, having finished in good standing at Eton, he entered Oxford. He was an incessant reader, speculator, and writer from his early days at Eton, and, though he slighted the prescribed studies, he became greatly interested in chemistry and read deeply in the works of Locke, Hume, D'Holbach, Volney, Rousseau, and Voltaire. By March, 1811, he had produced two novels, a rhymed narrative, a play (now lost), a great quantity of verse of indifferent or wholly bad quality, and was joint author with his cousin Medwin of a romance. He had also already begun Queen Mab. On March 25, 1811, he, with his friend Thomas Jefferson Hogg, was expelled from Oxford for having written, printed, and circulated a pamphlet, The Necessity of Atheism. Shelley's father cut off the boy's allowance, and for a time

he was reduced to want, living upon small sums sent him by his relatives, the Medwins and Groves, and the pocket-money of his sisters, at school at Clapham, near London. A girl of sixteen, Harriet Westbrook, the daughter of a retired tavernkeeper and a school-mate of his sisters, acted as message-bearer between the Shelleys. Early in June, a family truce having been patched up, Shelley returned home. From there he made a visit to Wales, but on receiving a despairing letter from Harriet, went to London. In August the pair eloped, and on the 28th were married in Edinburgh. Shelley's father again cut off his allowance. In December Harriet's father allowed his daughter $1,000 a year, and in January, 1812, Shelley's father made an equal allowance. From this time until March, 1814, the youthful pair wandered about England, Wales, and Ireland, Shelley finishing Queen Mab, and producing some miscellaneous verse, and a number of pamphlets urging political reforms. The union had now become uncongenial, Harriet evincing a growing indifference to the subjects which were the life and soul of the reformer and poet, and concerning herself more and more regarding the possessions and attributes necessary for a "fine lady." Shelley, however, doubtful of the validity of the Scotch marriage, remarried Harriet on March 26th. In April the break came, and Harriet (whether intending a separation or only a long visit is not known) left him and joined her sister. It is not believed that the couple ever again lived together. The stanzas "To Harriet, May, 1814,"